Cornflowers
by SaturnOolaa
Summary: For the lord who has everything... sort of. Hector is awkward, Matthew is expository, and Serra meddles. [Mild HectorEliwood.]


Disc: Don't own them.  
AN: Finally. This fic took a long time, first to write and then to leave so I could edit it. I think the end result is quite good, and I hope everyone else is happy reading it. I wanted to do justice to everyone in the story, especially Serra. I'm a totally shameless Serra fan. So, this is (hopefully) the beginning of a group of Hector/Eliwood fics set in the same timeline, and featuring all the good old-fashioned angst, sap, and wacky antics you would expect. Uh. Enjoy!

CORNFLOWERS

He finds them on the battlefield, beside the corpse of a fallen soldier.

Hector never pays much attention to the world around him when he fights. He learned in the arenas, where it's always one-on-one and the pit is ugly and empty save your opponent. He spends his battles in a kind of automatic daze. It's only luck that he notices the flowers at all.

They're blue. They're pretty. They're growing in a little patch beside the dead man's head. If he had fallen an inch more to the right he would have crushed them. It's amazing that they're still there, with so many people fighting and not caring where they step.

Seized by impulse, Hector picks them and tucks them into his belt. He's not sure what he'll do with them, but now that he's seen them, he can't leave them there. He would remember them all day.

He thinks of Eliwood, on the other side of the field. The flowers are the same colour as his eyes.

Then he holds up his axe again and swings at the enemy attempting to sneak up behind him. He cuts his arm clean off, then delivers a killing blow to the chest, but it was close. It's what he gets for distracting himself like that. Better not to think on the battlefield.

But he pays enough attention to keep the flowers safe until the end of the battle.

"You're all so lucky!" crows Serra. "I, the great and stunningly cute cleric, have agreed to heal your wounds with the blessing of Saint Elimine! At no personal cost! Gather around and bask in my grace!"

When no one answers, chosing to nurse their own wounds or make use of Priscilla's healing skills instead, she pouts and looks around for something else of interest.

The camp is calm now, in the busy but exhausted lull that always happens after a battle. People are dusting themselves off, checking on their friends, replacing broken weapons, enjoying a brief rest before the preparation of dinner. A light wind ruffles the tent doors. The sun is out. It's really a beautiful day.

Serra walks past Lyn and Florina talking on their way to Merlinus' tent, Canas buried in a book, various people who's names she can't even recall. The army is getting bigger every day.

At last she stops, face painted with curiousity.

Lord Hector is pacing back and forth in front of Lord Eliwood's tent. His brow is creased with worry. In his hands, he holds a small boquet of cornflowers.

"Oh, Lor-" she starts, eagerly, but is cut off by someone's hands clamping over her mouth. "Hmphm?"

"He's busy. Don't bother him."

Matthew removes his hands gingerly. Serra's mouth immediately turns down. "He doesn't look busy to me. And besides, no matter how busy he may be, I'm far too important to the army for him to dare ignore me! I have needs, you know!"

"So does Lord Hector," Matthew responds, glancing at their illustrious leader. "And his needs are more important than yours right now. Can't you go frusturate someone else for once? Even for a little bit?"

Serra shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, not now! Now I'm curious! What's he doing?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Matthew steps in front of her and gives her a weak push in the opposite direction. "No. This is a delicate time for Lord Hector! He needs his privacy! Do you not know the meaning of that word? For god's sakes, girl-"

There is a loud "ahem" from beside them. An unarmoured Oswin gently but firmly removes Matthew's hands from Serra's shoulders. "Matthew, it's unchivalrous to handle a woman like that. Even if the woman is Serra. What news?"

Matthew breaks his favoured slouch for a vaguely military stance. "No enemy forces moving in, no infighting, for once, and the terrain looks good from here on in." He jerks his thumb towards the tent. "Other than Lord Hector's anxiety issues, things are pretty quiet."

"I see." Oswin shakes his head. "It's getting worse, isn't it."

Ignoring Serra tapping him repeatedly on the shoulder, Matthew shrugs stoicly. "Only a little. Naturally, Lord Eliwood's been pretty shaken up by Marquess Pherae's death, and I think our glorious master is letting that drive him nuts. Go over and see if you can talk some sense into him, huh?"

"At least I'll try to have him stop pacing," Oswin responds wryly. "It's disconcerting." He strides towards the tent and engages in what looks like somewhat strained conversation with Lord Hector.

Serra's look of confused irritation has by now turned into a nervous tick that is practically attacking her face. "What on earth," she breathes, every word filled with an enraged whine not unlike the drone of a swarm of bees, "is going on?"

Matthew finally relents. If he dodges the question any longer, one of them will try to kill the other, and he's not willing to bet who it'll be. "If I tell you, do you promise to shut up?"

"Absolutely," repies Serra with conviction. "Just spill already."

"Alright." Matthew points to the bunch of flowers in Lord Hector's hand. "See those? He's worried about giving them to Lord Eliwood."

Serra raises an eyebrow. "Flowers? Why would he give Lord Eliwood flowers?"

"If you have to ask, I have nothing further to say to you." Matthew rolls his eyes. "Think about it. Why do people usually give flowers?"

It may not be apparent all the time, or to everyone she meets, but Serra's no fool. "Oh!" she exclaims, breaking into a scandalized giggle. "Omigosh! That is such a scoop!" Then she frowns. "Wait a minute. I thought Lord Hector was in love with me..."

Matthew actually starts walking away before she calls him back. "Oh, come on! Have a little bit of sympathy! A beautiful maiden, heart broken by her fiancee's secret passions... no?" She pouts a little. "Well, at least finish the story!"

"Okay," Matthew turns around again, still frowning, "but that's about all there is to tell. Lord Hector has, uh, tender feelings for Lord Eliwood. You know how problematic that could be."

"Of course!" Serra clasps her hands to her heart and bats her eyelashes tragically. "It's forbidden love!"

"Not even." Matthew breathes out heavily. "Look. Now that Lord Elbert is dead, Lord Eliwood is the Lord of Pherae. The second he gets home, he'll be expected to marry, have children, and govern so hard he'll have no time for anything else. And Lord Hector's next in line as Lord Ostia and head of the Lycian League. It may not seem like it, but when Lord Urther dies without children, he's going to have a huge amount of responsibility. If he fell in love with... a soldier, or some common girl... it'd be forbidden. But a man? A noble? It's just ridiculous."

Serra wrinkles her nose indingantly. "But that's completely unfair! Aren't nobles supposed to be able to do anything they want? So why can't they just sneak around a little...?"

"Because they're too honourable for that." Matthew looks over to the tent, where Oswin has given up on Lord Hector and is walking away shaking his head. "They'd think they were betraying their responsibilities."

"That's... that's just dumb!"

Matthew nods. "You're telling me. But, you know, if you're never going to have a chance with someone, why should you make the effort? Why give them flowers in the first place? That's probably what Lord Hector is thinking."

"Matthew..." Serra mock-sniffles. "That was so touching! I always thought you were sort of crusty and mean, but actually, you're really a romantic, aren't you? I may really have no choice but to accept your hidden love for me..."

"Shut. Up."

Raising a hand to her mouth, Serra makes a fair impersonation of someone being shocked. "How rude! I'm going to seek company more worthy of my greatness."

With that, she turns her back on Matthew and strides eagerly towards the source of their gossip. "Lord Hector! Oh, Lord Hector!"

"What..." Somewhat startled, Lord Hector raises his head. A resigned expression appears on his face. "Oh, Serra. It's you."

Serra glances towards the flowers in his hand and makes another shocked face. "Flowers? For me! Why, Lord Hector! Of course, I had known of your feelings for quite some time, but that you would be so bold... towards a cleric of Elimine... no, I mustn't deny you anything, my Lord. Of course, I'll be happy to take them!"

For a moment, it seems as though he is going to argue with her. "They're not..." Then, abrubtly, he changes his mind and shoves the flowers at her so hard they might crush. "...Nevermind. Here, have them. I don't care."

"Thank you, milord," responds Serra with a smile and a little curtsey. "I'll treasure them."

Matthew is staring at her with a look that has passed from curiousity through outrage into sheer disbelief. She winks at him and saunters away.

The next morning, when Hector gets up and dressed and outside still slapping his cheeks and yawning, he sees Eliwood sitting peacefully beside the cook fire. His eyes are shining. His head is raised towards the newly-risen sun. In his hands he holds a familiar bunch of blue flowers.

For a moment Hector thinks he is still asleep. "Where..." he starts, shocked, before changing his voice and expression to something a little more laid-back, more typical for him, "where did you get those?"

"I found them on my pillow last night," replies Eliwood with a faraway kind of smile. He still looks older than he did before they went to the Dragon's Gate, but at least he's cheering up, and he allows himself to smile without thinking. He gestures to the patch of grass next to him. Hector takes a seat. "Whoever put them there didn't leave their name."

Hector grins his best friendly-older-brother grin. "Looks like someone's got a secret admirer. You ladies' man, you."

Eliwood merely shrugs and looks him in the eye. "I don't know," he says. "It might have been anybody." Hector's grin grows slightly strained, and finally he looks away. "But I'm glad I got them, whoever it was. They're cornflowers. Very pretty."

They sit there for some time in comfortable silence. Other than Lowen, skewering various breakfast foods over the fire and not paying attention to anything else, the world is deserted. Somewhere beyond the expanse of camp, the other early risers are training for the battles ahead. The morning is slowly growing warmer.

"Do you remember our Etiquette classes?" asks Eliwood suddenly. "About the language of flowers?"

Snorting, Hector shakes his head. "Of course not."

Eliwood turns the bunch of flowers over and over in his palm. "Well, I didn't think I did either. But I'm fairly sure..." he thinks for a moment, "no, I'm sure. Cornflowers are supposed to be a symbol of hope in love."

A moment passes.

"Really," says Hector, a genuine smile touching his face. "How about that." He shakes his head again. "How about that."

END 


End file.
